The more elegant and beautiful something is, the stronger the urge to ruin it.
Consider the image: a fair-skinned saintess raised by the Church, standing right here. Sacred, pure, untouched by the world's ugliness — an angel given human form. What would a Sein Dungeon adventurer who enjoyed invasions think upon seeing her?
"I need to smash a Dung Pie into her face."
Something about extended time in Sein Dungeon gradually assimilated a person's sensibilities to match the place itself. Adventurers had all developed an appreciation for watching important figures make fools of themselves — watching confident, high-and-mighty people have their dignity methodically shredded by the dungeon's malice until they finally broke and lost their composure entirely.
At this moment, Eliphis extended his hand toward Patches — who had materialized as a Phantom — with the full intention of turning him into a bright and cheerful young man.
Light washed over him.
The mercenaries watched with the reverence of people witnessing a genuine miracle.
Patches had already raised his greatshield and settled into his shield-poking stance. The moment Eliphis's light touched him, however, he slowly lowered both weapons, his eyes visibly clearing as he fixed his gaze on Eliphis in quiet stillness.
The mercenaries erupted.
"The commander's ability works on phantoms too!"
"Hahaha! The dungeon isn't as mysterious as people make it out to be!"
"Quick — see if we can get anything useful out of him now that he's been reformed!"
Eliphis surveyed his handiwork with quiet satisfaction.
The bald man with the face full of cunning had been transformed into someone who looked — remarkably — pure and honest. The ability genuinely worked on phantoms. Interesting.
He examined Patches for a few moments, found nothing worth pursuing, and waved a hand, leaving him to the mercenaries as he moved on.
Then, just as he passed, Patches spoke.
"Hey, pretty boy. What's with shining a spotlight in my damn eyes?"
The mercenaries' cheers died instantly.
How had those words come from someone who had just been reformed?
Eliphis turned, a slight frown crossing his face.
Patches was already pulling a jar-shaped object from his waist at blinding speed, arm cocked back to throw.
"Whoosh—!"
The archer captain put an arrow through Patches's arm before the throw completed.
The jar shattered in midair.
A foul-smelling cloud erupted outward and swallowed Eliphis in an instant.
A Dung Pie?
Not quite. The smell was nowhere near as catastrophic as the real thing.
Its true identity —
Eliphis drove his blade through Patches's heart in a single thrust.
A gust of wind erupted from him, dispersing the smoke in every direction.
His brows remained tightly drawn.
For two reasons.
First: his ability had proven ineffective against the phantom — or rather, ineffective in the way that actually mattered.
Second: the smell still clinging to the air from whatever that jar had contained.
There was no poison. It didn't obscure vision. Aside from smelling genuinely awful, its apparent purpose was simply to disgust whoever it touched.
Was that it? Was it purely meant to be revolting?
The mercenaries quickly cast wind magic to clear the air and began searching for antidotes and perfume on general principle.
Then they looked at Eliphis.
"Commander — your armor!"
He looked down.
Then went quiet.
His favored set — the one forged with the image of a white eagle spreading its wings in full flight — was covered in hairline cracks running in every direction. It had been crafted from magical metal. He touched it lightly.
The armor crumbled into dust and drifted to the floor.
So that was the effect.
It destroyed equipment.
Watching the white eagle emblem on his chestplate fracture and fall apart, his expression didn't change.
Beneath it, his fist tightened.
Then the gauntlet crumbled too.
"Commander, please change into this immediately!"
The mercenaries suddenly found themselves grateful for packing spare equipment before departure. Unfortunately, spare armor was standard-issue gear. Nothing that came close to matching Eliphis's signature set.
"That phantom is absolutely despicable! Of all the attacks he could make, he goes after the equipment?!"
The mercenaries cursed Patches's tactics with considerable feeling.
As the leader, Eliphis maintained his composure throughout.
While his subordinates helped him change armor, he offered:
"An enemy who resorts to methods like this does so because he has nothing better available. Underhanded tricks reveal only the smallness of the person using them."
"The commander is right!"
"In terms of raw courage alone, we surpass that phantom completely!"
Eliphis really was something as a leader. He could say almost anything, and his subordinates would ignite on their own.
After the armor change, however, the effect was visible. Compared to the white set, his presence felt noticeably diminished — less commanding, less like himself. He didn't show it, but he was undoubtedly irritated.
And then things became more aggravating still.
Because all the armor plating that had covered his lower body — specifically, his crotch — was gone.
The skirt armor had vanished entirely.
A cool breeze made itself felt in an area where cool breezes were not typically welcome.
A strange and unwelcome sense of freedom settled in.
The muscles around his jaw tightened.
"That can't be right. I'm certain we packed several complete sets…"
The supply officer was sweating through his collar once more.
How was he supposed to explain this? Why did their supplies keep disappearing?
By this point, even the least perceptive person in the group could tell something was wrong.
Supplies vanishing. Not all at once — quietly, progressively, as though something had been helping itself for a while.
Either there was a traitor among them —
Or —
"Whoosh."
A faint sound, barely audible, cut through the silence.
In that quiet it was unmistakable.
Eliphis was at a specific point in the corridor in the same instant — hand extended, reaching for something invisible suspended in the air.
His grasp closed on nothing.
Whatever it was had the texture of an eel — impossibly slick, impossible to hold.
It slipped free before his fingers could find purchase.
The others realized it simultaneously. Something had been stealing their supplies. Right under their noses. And none of them had noticed until now.
When had it started?
Eliphis raised a hand and fired a bolt of light — wide as a water barrel — toward where his instincts told him the creature had gone.
It blew a substantial hole through the cemetery wall.
Nothing else.
The mercenaries unleashed attacks across every direction.
They destroyed a considerable amount of the surrounding architecture.
They never glimpsed the thief.
It was already gone.
"Commander, we're sorry. We should have caught it sooner—"
"Take inventory. I want to know exactly what was lost."
He issued the order with the same calm he always carried, then walked to the location where his senses told him the creature had lingered.
What kind of monster could approach a group like this without detection?
He crouched and examined the ground.
His gaze sharpened.
Shallow depressions in the hard stone. Certain patches showed signs of corrosion. The spacing between some of the impressions exceeded twenty meters.
For the first time, genuine confusion appeared behind his eyes.
Working from what he could read: the creature was somewhere between ten and twenty meters in length. Extremely heavy. Capable of producing corrosion. Able to cross twenty meters in a single stride.
And yet it had moved through them in complete silence and stolen supplies from under their hands.
He recalled the sensation from when he had almost caught it.
The texture had felt like —
A tongue.
He filed it away.
This dungeon really did contain things he hadn't anticipated.
He had never underestimated Sein Dungeon — but he had to concede that his focus had been elsewhere. His thoughts had been running too far ahead, toward what waited at the end. He had let his guard down by a fraction.
He wouldn't again.
He ordered the group to advance at full speed.
The mercenaries responded with noticeably heightened vigilance. The supply officer physically clutched the remaining supplies to his chest. If something wanted to steal them again, it would have to take him with them.
After that, nothing disappeared.
When the inventory count came back, the greatest losses had been healing potions. Nothing especially valuable had been taken. The losses were manageable.
Though the breeze around Eliphis's crotch remained a persistent reminder of the encounter.
The White Eagle Mercenaries had always had a particular fondness for skirt armor.
They pressed through the monster-dense upper and middle layers.
They crossed the darkness of the lower level.
Following Sali's guidance, they dispatched the Knight efficiently and arrived at Wolnir's Pit of Figurines.
The sea of bones surged around them.
Eliphis paid it limited attention. Intimidating in presentation, but not especially powerful in substance. The Assault Team captain and the Dragoon captain between them were already shattering skeletons in every direction.
Eliphis raised one hand toward the open space above.
Brilliant light erupted from his palm.
Within it, a massive eagle of pure luminescence took shape — sweeping, majestic, circling overhead. Every undead creature its radiance touched dissolved on contact.
As expected.
Some situations called for wide-area solutions.
Beyond the suspension bridge waited the cavern where the Abyss churned.
Looking at it, Eliphis felt something he didn't immediately categorize.
He reached out to touch it.
He wasn't aware, until after the fact, that his hand had been trembling slightly.
The Abyss responded.
It swallowed them whole.
They traversed the long passage. They pushed open the heavy stone doors.
The crowned skull appeared before them.
Black mist spread.
Everything shifted.
When they arrived in the space where absolute darkness swallowed even the light of one's own hand, Eliphis's eyes lit briefly.
The mercenaries moved without needing to be told — they had rehearsed this before departure. A specific formation took shape around Eliphis, the three captains positioned in a triangle at designated distances, vice-captains and elite mercenaries filling the outer points.
Lines of light connected them beneath their feet.
It looked like a magic circle. Because it was.
Points of light bloomed on each person.
Eliphis raised his index finger toward the darkness overhead.
Light converged from every individual toward that single point.
A resonant chant spread through the dark.
A vast, gathering presence.
In the space of a breath, a blazing sphere materialized above them — small as a fist, bright as a miniature sun, radiating vitality so intense it pressed against the skin.
This was magic fueled by the collective life force of everyone present.
A spell that surpassed King-Tier magic without question.
[Orb of Life]
Its concentrated life energy was lethal poison to anything undead.
The mercenaries tore open four King-Tier Holy Light scrolls simultaneously. Sacred radiance coiled around the Orb of Life like luminous serpents.
No subtlety. Every enhancement specifically chosen to counter undead. The combined life force of numerous elite humans channeled through Eliphis's extraordinarily vast mana reserves had elevated the Orb of Life to a power that was genuinely difficult to look at directly.
It still sat below the threshold of true Legendary magic. The wall between the two was real and present.
Then a bracelet appeared in Eliphis's hand.
It pulsed with a familiar aura.
A Relic Weapon.
The instant it appeared, the Orb of Life swelled — doubled in size, then doubled again. The power contained within it surged past what it had been moments before.
It had touched the threshold of Legend.
Not equal to a true Legendary spell — not comparable to what Conrad had unleashed before the Sword Saint cut him down. This was something closer to a forced imitation, an accelerated approximation. Its destructive potential might read as Legendary, but its fundamental nature remained well below.
Even so — the fact that Eliphis could construct something this close to a pseudo-Legendary spell with this small a group of people was, by any reasonable measure, outrageous.
Using Mage Hand, he reached out and lifted the faintly glowing object floating in the darkness.
[Pile of Trash Remains]
A short, quiet exhale — barely a laugh.
Then he flicked his finger.
The attack he had every confidence in streaked toward High Lord Wolnir as the tyrant emerged from the dark.
Its target was the enemy's most obvious weak point.
The skull.